Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen
by iUnforgivable
Summary: Because long ago, they weren't like this. But long ago is exactly like it's name. It is the past. Now that they're tangled in a web of betrayal, greed, and human nature's ill will, they wish for a simple life...only to be greeted with worse.
1. one

Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

"_Madmen know nothing. I fancy them characters of a fairytale."_

You have the guts and courage of Robin Hood. Even if you do not. Because everyone, every one of us, have played pretend before right? Well, let's also pretend you have the beauty of Dorian Gray but with all the kindness of aforementioned Robin, even if that is unachievable and is nothing but a taunting dream. Let's say that your daily walk in the forest has taken a horrid turn and has left you wandering until you stumble upon the neighboring town. Let's just say that the wolves have left you alone because of your stunning beauty, let's say you have daringly and heroically stole from the dreaded rich of a humble village to provide for your needs of your short journey.

Now let's return our little pretend game to that neighboring town, with it's welcome fences and glittering trees. There is a wooden sign crudely stuck to the ground, the dirt around it bulging as if something was under it. It is painted with the word "Khapantreotoun," though there is a possibility you have read wrong. You pay little attention to it, nor do you spare the small, barely noticeable splatter of a dark red color of blooming flowers a extra look. You saunter light-hearted to the nearest inn to rest yourself from your somewhat tiring journey and are hospitably ushered in with cheerful smiles. You take a nice seat with a wooden table propped in the corner. A dangling spider looks at you from the other corner and you grimace slightly, marring your features but you quickly return to a more appealing look.

You turn to the window. The town is very colorful, with the swaying of lively green lights, until you notice they are leaves. You giggle a bit as a athletic-looking waitress runs gracefully besides you placing a silver platter on your table as she does the same with the man reading a newspaper on the table next to you.

After a hearty dinner, you then bid farewell to the gleeful fellows in the lower floor of the inn as you lightly but quickly proceed to the rickety stairs. The stairs hold up your light body and you make your way through the candle-lit hallways with their musty but warm rugs laid organized on wooden oak floor. You find your room, and your slightly rusting key (handed by the young waiter who seemed to have a lot in common with you) approves with it's soft click as the door opens. You step into a well-kept room, and luckily there are no dangling spiders. You smile at this thought. You busy yourself in this room, it is small but has many functions. There in the corner sits a sliding closet and a cozy bed seems to beckon you with wide-spread arms. You decide to read a book during your stay and a face way above you, so high you cannot see it, frowns because you are reading a book…while you are a character in a book. He finds this strange. It is odd, it is very new to him. You choose to please this outer force and replace the book on a stable shelf. He seems to be content with this. Below you, there is suddenly a scream. A loud shriek of extremely high volume. This time, it is you who is frowning. He seems amused, interested as to what will happen. You don't really like his attitude that much.

Carefully, you descend the creaking stairs as quick as you can. You catch a fleeting glimpse of the outside and you are suddenly thoroughly shocked. It is not the brightly-lit town you have seen. You take a quick turn to see the picket through the blurry window. As you press your face against the cold glass you read "Khapantreotoun" from the tiny picket, but this time, unlike the last, you notice that little splatter. It kind of…looks like... Hm…now what does it resemble? You can just hear, or even see the above face smirk at your naivety. So, he has known. You are quite mad at him for not informing you. Ahh, well, it is too late, you might as well see what is it that is happening down there. You sigh as you try to regain your former pace.

The above male is expecting a Prince Charming to arrive at the inn. Of course, it is quite obvious that the splatter was his seal. This little main character does not really meet your expectations of "brave and witty." She is rather a bit dim, like the teacher who prides himself intelligent though he is hiding under nothing but lies. He continues this novel, though it is getting quite dull. He is a bit saddened. He waves his legs back and fro as he tries to anticipate a unique twist, whacking his poor roommate a few times on the back. Oh my, was he licking a lollipop? Oops. Oh well.

You finally approach the bright glow of the lower inn and you are met with a disgusting scene. Before you have time to express your shock, or even have the author give details of your vision, everything stops. Why, you ask? It looks like the aforementioned male has decided that he wishes not to read anymore for the chills the illustration emits has started to seep into his brain through his eyes. The glaring, glowing red color and the fresh smell of small splatters of blood starts to invade his brain and his eyes seem to glow red along with the paint on the old book. Disassembled arms, amputated legs flash across his eyes like the 10 cents picture shows. He seems to be able to smell the waft of rust, so similar to blood coming from the dirty walls of the room though his brain thinks it blood. He stares at the closed book for a while, disturbed, and decides to get rid of the creepy thing. He admits he is quite superstitious. That is one of his weaknesses. He wouldn't wish the story's events on anyone, even the one he loathed. Though he actually hasn't hated anyone yet.

He makes a quick grunt and points towards the door. Nutty, which seems to be the name of the candy-licking roommate of this book-loving boy, nods slightly. The door refuses to open without protest for it squeaks horribly before opening wide. The stairs are creaking as his weight slightly forces onto the surface of the old wood. He runs his hands over the railing and it is rough, not polished and smooth like ones described in classic books. There are cracks in the wooden material and he can feel them through his hands. His fingernail scratches at one and some brown paint peels off. His mouth slightly opens and he silently forbids himself from damaging it more.

He lands on the second floor (he was previously on the third) and gently touches a hunched over male over the head, feeling and fiddling with his curly strands until he turns quickly in the dark, barely illuminated by a leftover candle burning daringly before it's last minutes.

This man, whose name is Lumpy if you must know, laughs a awkward laugh and states,

"Sniffles." He then properly questions his late-night prowling.

It appears that this male is called Sniffles for he seems to acknowledge the name with no rejection but a nod. He prods Lumpy lightly by the waist and asks for the location of the trash bin.

"Gone. Tomorrow."

"Mm, okay," Sniffles replies, with a tone that has a bit of gratification tucked in there for the small piece of information.

He gives him a quick "Good night," and quickly proceeds through the door and stairs, reminding himself not to touch and scratch the surface of the fragile railing. As he steps onto the last step, his hand is cut by leftover glass as he balances himself after a brief tumble.

He looks at the miniscule injury as nothing, wiping it off on his white (but now grey) shirt. He rubs it all over his face, arms, and legs while checking for further harm. Pleased to see nothing has happened other than the small coarse scratch, Sniffles drops down the book with a slam on the table and heads toward the door once again.

"Shower, Nutty."

Another nod. A piercing silence follows it, so silent that it pounds on the ears, as if there was really a sound.

"Nutty, shower...?" His eyebrows curve a bit, his eyes tinged with a bit of confusion.

A sigh can be heard.

"Nutty, go shower!"

There is a small sound of shuffling across the ground, though it stops as the other male pushes him towards the restroom quickly, the balls of their feet scraping against dirt. Sniffles slams the door and with a quick nod of satisfaction rolls into his bed, now free of a Nutty. Leaning over agilely, he reaches the book and it's neighbor, the candle. A bruise-like colored stain mars the cover of the book, and it has leaked onto the brittle pages of the old book. Oddly, it appears a light blue on a certain page, the contents page, but is colored normally on the others, as if someone had used up their dark-red paint. He…is somewhat curious as to what will happen in the end. He flips to back. Someone seems to be rendered…blind. Their eyes are rolling on the ground, next to a pair of arms that seem to belong to another person crouched pitifully next to the eye-less being. There is one leaning on a chair with no legs, something tied behind them and a piece of bone can be seen sticking out of their flesh. It is quite cruel and revolting really, and Sniffles finds it disgusting. A shrieking damsel seems to be holding a sharp projectile, the ill-looking girl besides her is clutching another chair with blood splattered all over her face, and her skin about to peel as her fingernails dig more into her frail hand. A male seemed to be knocked over on the ground, a brick stained with his blood and his hands grasping onto what seemed to be a small candy bar, a small candy bar inside another's stomach. It is a grotesque picture of pure red except there are no blooming flowers because a green-clothed male has them next to his mouth, his neck bruised. A clown dressed in flashy purple has his mouth open as if grasping for breath…even though he cannot with something blurred in the back, next to his spine. Each scan Sniffles makes gives him another victim to see, each with a desperate situation equal to another's. One dressed as a ant is sitting helplessly on a over-glorified throne with lemons by his raw feet. One is laid on a clothed bed, seemingly suffering from frostbite. It is horrid. This book seems to be so filled bloody scenes…as if devoted only to the terror of flying blood…and the blood stain on top contributes to this, it's strange blue like a sprouting plant. Except sprouting is truly the wrong word to be used…for no one is living happily in this book…not the Prince Charming, no, he is on the ground, not the dim damsel, no, she is crouching shocked, not the amusing Jester, no, he has been stabbed through the chest. And no, not him either, though how he will be gone…it is unknown. Which makes it all the more interesting, doesn't it?

* * *

_Months later, but not that far, there sits a smudged being. He is writing something, no, not with his blood, but with a pen. A pen of red. You cannot see much of the second page, but it's first is clear…though no date is existent. There is a sound of scribbling. It could be silence, really, but no one really knows._

_DATE _

_Silence. I can hear it today, one of the last days. It doesn't sound like it's usual. To some, though, it sounds like nothing. To some it sounds like their brain working. To some, it sounds like music they have in their head. To me, before I am fated to lose my brains and while I am still in the condition where I am able to understand and think, it sounds like a dropping of an object…,the echo of footsteps...,then a squeak, repeating, repeating, over and over…They are all dreadful sounds. _

_Reflected in our creaking mirror is a image of myself. The sorrow my reflection emits is overwhelming, though it is barely half the true melancholy in my real solid self. Though my beaten room helps give this scene it's gloomy mood, it is just a background effect. If removed, the pure sadness would not be gone….it would just simply exist as if nothing had been removed, taken away. Had it been just a plain, simple white world, with no greedy yearning and fanciful hopes and dreams…then maybe…this wouldn't have happened? Because then…maybe we would've adapted..? But it is our nature, to have such things. It would not have made us, ourselves. We…would've been dull…not unique. Though, life-is it possible for us to call it such now that it is malformed?-would have been easier, if we were able to laugh when we play in the sand, and not fear it become quicksand…and sweep us away. _

_I…wonder how it feels to be dim-witted. Truly, I am curious. Even if we are doomed horrible days…I am still honestly curious…even while I am writing this, days before our fated time in which I will no longer know how to write. I still have compliments of my lovely handwriting tucked away in a corner of my brain, as if taunting me of my coming inability to write, and this memory, it is something I cannot get rid of it…which teases me even more. This curse…it truly is the worse one, though I sometimes say we might have gotten one worse… But I know…I am really just trying to comfort myself, because how could it be any more horrible? I never was one to think the glass half empty…It always appeared half full. But I don't seem to think that right now._

_Heavy dread seems to loom above us, and I respect anyone who is still able to keep this idea in their head. For we thought we were running the story, writing the tiny words…though it was the story, the horrid book, we were following, and we ended like how he ended. Sight-less, brain-less, limb-less, a curse of repetitive eternity of life, balancing upon the thin line we treaded on, between the gates of life and death. I can see the black iron…yet I can see the white pearls…but we can stay on neither side to rest…we are constantly balancing the thin line of grey, but we are no flexible clowns, we are just normal people…now just wanting a normal life. _

_A few days later, I will be a moose. A moose, with thin yellow antlers. And sometimes, I will be a human, a human-moose, with those same antlers. And Handy, he will be without hands-the irony, mocking us with it's nasty derision-and The Mole, he will be blind. Mime will speak no more, Cro-Marmot encased in cold ice. And I, I will be dumb. I will be like Algernon. Except I am not a white mouse, I am a moose. But he is dead, and I cannot be, so we are not completely similar. But who, really who at this time, will be picky of such details?_

_But I will keep comparing myself because it seems to make time go by faster…only for me to notice I will have no pleasure of doing this if I am reduced to a moose…a moose who cannot think. So I will do so when I still am capable of doing so. _

_I fancy myself also like Charlie, because when I look back at us, before we caught a glimpse of Khapantreotoun, we were naïve…but unlike Charlie, I now yearn for it…even though yearning has been revealed to be bad. But habits are hard to cut…nature is hard to change…and life is really hard to live._

_Sniffles…he seemed so childish when I think back. He was stubborn, unable to accept the fact that this could not be changed and that it was his fault, yet today he is mature…and he understands the situation. He accepts it. We will just have to wait. Wait for years. Until…someone picks our book up. Until…it is 100 years. Then, we will be free. I do not know if I will revert back to myself, the one with the nice handwriting after the 100 years…But in 100 years…we will finally be able to rest._

_Right now, I am already feeling a bit tired. And of course, this talk of rest is not helping, and I am feeling…rather strange. As if I am losing something. I am losing something bit by bit. My writing…seems to start to reflect this, it seems to have become quite messy. The iienk is supplatrred and I want to ressst…I htinnnk I realliiiy need it._

_ -Lumpy_

* * *

A/N: I had a idea for a multi-fic so I decided to try at write it… Probably isn't that good because when I read it, it felt choppy. Tried to keep the character's dialogue short, limiting each time they speak to 3 words because that's how the show kind of works so it might be somewhat confusing I guess? Was really challenging trying to write their actions with little words, and at first I found it hard to progress through the story since I first limited myself to only speaking names or not speaking at all while conveying the story properly but couldn't pull it off. Lumpy's little journal entry with the comparison with Algernon and Charlie is from Flowers for Algernon, which is a short story I've been reading for school. My first impression of Charlie was that he was exactly like Lumpy and I found it really easy to get down Lumpy's character after I read it, which is probably why I chose to use that comparison.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own HTF.


	2. two

Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

"_Curiosity kills the cat. But that little kitty still has 8 lives."_

Something's crawling, crawling ever so slowly, on a heaving white landscape. There is generally nothing on this piece of white land, maybe a random ball of gray cotton but that is not much. There are no trees, no busy city. Nothing. Except this moving black dot.

But the above description was wrong, very wrong, like when you were young and answered 1+2 with 4 on your test. It is but a poor boy's white beaten up shirt jumping up and down as he breathes while he is in dull slumber. His face wears no expression, eyes closed, eyebrows relaxed. His mouth is still and not open, his lips a bit paler than usual. A few minutes pass with no significant motion from the sleeping child until the black dot, it seems to be a insect, climbs up onto his neck, tickling the skin with the dancing antennas and excited thin legs.

There is nothing to be joyous about little ant, there is a giant hand looming over you. One of it's tall fingers lean in and rubs a itchy spot, presumably the resting spot of the miniscule ant for there is a speck of blood on the finger when it is lifted. Poor ant.

"Ugh…ant?"

The boy mumbles drowsily in his sleep, his limbs stretching as he awakes slowly. His room was littered with ants, ants and candy of course, no telling from his roommate. This aforementioned roommate is also asleep, though he is on the ground for some reason. Last time the boy recalled, he was on the top of the rusting bunkbed. The way he managed to roll down every night is quite mysterious, though it's not like everyone else in their orphanage wasn't odd.

A cold shivering hand grasps the metal bar of the old bed and the shaky metal rattles as the hand does the same, the mattress also moves along a bit as if to not be left out. Looking down, the now-bespectacled boy sees his roommate, pale as his bed sheet, the red on his cheeks a faintest pink.

"Nutty?" he asks with a bit of shock as he lifts up his rather life-less, unmoving body of the ground. He pressed his warm hand against the chilly slab of face in front of him and withdrew harshly from the freezing temperature of it. He sighed. How many times had he ended up like this when he rolled off the bed on a really cold day? More than he could count on his 10 stubby fingers for sure. He gently touched his toe against the dirt and found it somewhat cold, like if it was moist. The cabinet was wet with rain that sparkled a bit like dew under small lantern light and he mentally scolded himself for not shutting the window securely. Not like the window panes were really that strong against this winter's cold fierce winds anyways.

He jumped off the sugar-stained bed and grabbed spare pieces of rough cotton cloth and wrapped them around his coughing roommate. He then brushed his teeth, making sure to use as little water he could as he filled their broken glass cup with the cracking sink. Something tells him they'll be doing loads of work today, loads.

Shuffling could be heard by the time he forced Nutty into the small bathroom and he knew it was going to be crowded after a while, they weren't the only kids in the orphanage after all, there were plenty, plenty more. But it wasn't that much actually. It just seemed like there was a river of children when they were all fighting for the bathroom on a winter day, everyone dragging their blankets on the ground or over their heads in a lame attempt to hoard body heat.

Cuddles got there first, dragging a Toothy who couldn't run that fast to the bathroom doors. Seeing the two awake so early troubled him a bit and Sniffles hurriedly shoved Nutty into the bathroom with a kick to make sure he was one of the first five to have access to the bathroom. Sometimes he was such a pain to take care of. Seriously. He really needs to take care of himself.

"Water leaking?" he asked with a doubtful look on his face, for he seemed to be able to predict the answer without being told it and that answer was certainly, to him anyway, not a very favorable answer.

Toothy answered him and his face seemed to clear up a little with acknowledgement that no, unfortunately, he doesn't live in a castle, and the mournful droop of the shoulders reflected his feelings on that matter quite well.

"Yeah, lots."

"Ugh," Sniffles replied dejectedly, and the memory of tiring nights was suddenly on loop and it danced around and around in the spacious cavern of his head.

"Sucks yeah?" Cuddles popped in, his face gloomy and his eyes drooping with misery.

"Sure does."

A drop of water dripped onto Sniffles's head and he sighed. He had a feeling he'd be sighing again soon. He knew it. Just you watch.

As Sniffles went to grab the buckets and maybe a few pans and other hollow shenanigans, Lumpy claimed 4th place, since he was eldest after all, with Splendid claiming 5th right next to him since he would be probably needed for his agility during the hard and long task. The door slammed loudly, unnecessarily loudly, and some with a little bit more sensitive ears perked up a bit at the rough noise. Handy was quite irritated and pushed through the crowd with his lengthy and strong arms to the front, where he would be guaranteed the next 5 slots, and there he sat with a pleased look on his face.

The door opened real quick, only a few minutes later, as the 5 males emerged, ready to fight leaking pipes and impossibly low temperatures in their skimpy clothing. The next 5 followed through. Handy, Flippy, The Mole, Pop, and Disco Bear marched in like robots as the last few waited in line with no frustrating rampages and loud arguments, because today, most would prefer to be last. It meant less minutes working outside in snow when it rained like the sky was sad and pitied them.

The 5 stepped out in hastened fashion, grabbing the gloves and the axes as they set off to work to mend their kid-ran orphanage, it seemed like a storm would be coming soon, and that would be the worst with the cracking roofs and leaking pipes.

"Flippy, axes?" Lumpy asked, running his hand through his hair with anxiety as the boy he addressed counted stock and supplies, bundling them up in small piles.

"Not much," he started, pointing a finger at each.

"5 separate axes," he finished a bit worried.

"Okay, thanks."

Sniffles returned with a limited number of pots and pans, quickly informing that they were out of buckets. Cuddles had snatched them and put them to use and even then though he had done so, the roof still drooled rain. This roof had quite the appetite for their distress even though it was only a roof of a poor run-down house that dripped rain, unlike those of daily-lit mansions with their roofs pierced with gold and silver.

"What about dinner?"

Sniffles frowned a bit, looking down on dinner's importance, and the owner of the voice, a messy blue-haired girl that filled her dirt soiled hair with droopy flowers of blue, returned his frown with a whole face of dislike.

"Fine, Petunia, fine."

The girl, Petunia was her name, nodded approvingly and grabbed the pot and pan extended to her with great pleasure. Sniffles mumbled grouchily to himself, something along the lines of wasting materials for useless things like cooking food in a dirty pot of clay.

"Sniffles, pot please."

A girl with spiky amber hair, though it was more red than brown, asked gracefully and Sniffles gladly handed it over for it was to be used to catch water, which was the most honorable use for a pot that beat cooking any day. (To him, anyways.)

Petunia stuck her tongue at him. Sniffles's tongue dangled out of his mouth while he waved his hands up in the air like crazy, mocking like a chicken about to lay an egg, boasting of it before it has come. Flippy smacked them both on the head.

Minutes later, Cuddles came in through the front door his face white and his fingers tinted purple, body shivering beneath the wet shirt of his that clung to him tightly like glue.

"Storm comin' soon," he said gasping for breath, and the others who had been out cutting wood came hustling back in with the same ill faces and the same dull expressions plastered on a shaking pale face of a broken marionette.

"Wood count?" someone asked, and Flippy found and opened the basement entrance, which is just a plain hole really, nothing fancy. It was pitch dark and he squinted for a shadow of some sort, only to get nothing but black scenery then discomforted the eyes.

"Oh, candle please."

"Don't drop it…" Pop looked on worriedly and the lanky boy who was handling the candle on top a high ladder of smelly wood became aware of the dangerous situation, sweat licking his face even in unbearably cold weather.

"Thanks, Sneaky." Flippy said as he received the candle with incredible ease, swinging towards the inner part of the room like how Petunia flips her pan, enveloping the storage hole with shining light.

Cuddles approached him, a towel thrown around his head, and threw his share of wood into a corner, nearly blowing out the light. He earned a frown directed at him but Flippy picked them up and tied it along with some extra planks lying around anyways. They each handed the boy in charge of supplies the wood they had gathered from slightly snow-topped trees and he quickly put them to use in the fireplace. After the others had come out of the restroom, they tried to do their best mending the already-broken house with the additional workers without depleting the supplies. The bespectacled boy encouraged the lack of a live, burning fire and though it was rather unappealing, they agreed to it with the boy smiling pleased at the execution of his choice.

With the fireplace off and the candle slowly shrinking, the room darkened bit by bit though it was only noon and the birds were chirping still.

The darkened ramshackle house still bustled with activity of a circus and shouts asking for candles and demanding buckets were everywhere, giving it the sound of a unharmonious chorus. Skinny males climbed up and sprawled low, slender females sprinted to and fro, the flying towels like professional acrobats dressed in tight flashy clothes. Wooden planks as slim as the carriers themselves were fitted into gaping holes that sprinkled water and the hallway was like a crowded city's street, or even like the departure floor of the grand glass airport that towered above them outside their windows miles away.

Noon came, and the sun was at it's highest above their heads, shining brilliantly with it's rays. Lunch was announced by clanging of the pot and pan, and they all gathered into the crammed kitchen as Petunia passed out re-used paper plates and cracked cups, hugging the pot of steaming rice tightly in her arm. The heat passed through her skin and her face reddened healthily, a smile slowly spreading along her face.

Outside, it had started to rain loudly, the raindrops falling on the top the roof, piercing it's shabby protection. The clouds grumbled, hungry, and drifted lazily throughout the skies. Thunder struck afterwards. It was a short, sudden sound, like a tiger's growl and it pressed against the ears of the little assembled group. They stopped their joyous lunch immediately as the thunder struck the nearby trash bin, igniting it on fire, the fiery flowers flying up in the air extending their red arms to burn the half-cut down trees. The smell of smoke came wafting through to the kitchen, covering the smell of fresh rice.

"There's a fire!" Lumpy yelled, shoving them out of the kitchen. The crowd of teens, around 11-15, jogged out of the room and with more experience than a average adult, grabbed the coarse material of the rope and pulled.

"Grab the buckets!"

Sniffles obeyed, though who he was obeying he did not know, he was ordered to grab the water-filled buckets so he did so. He passed half to Nutty through the air and hastened his pace, the buckets scratching his knees and bumping into the other's feet and he ran, and he thought he ran pretty fast, as if he didn't have tomorrow ahead of him.

A thin burning finger lapped the walls of stone and wood and the moss-smelling wood caught it's burning passion, spreading through the rooms. It swallowed whole beds and the smoke beat on recently freezing faces. The swaying amber-haired figure missed a step on the long-winded stairs, and she rolled down her hands on her face. Bruised and beaten, she made it alive on the last step of the stair and braced herself with her elbow.

"Flaky!" Petunia screamed.

"Get that pot!"

Out of the corner of her brown eye that glowed red from the burning fire, she caught the sight of it and dragged herself slowly towards it's general direction, reaching it and putting her hand weakly against it's material. She dragged herself up holding the rim of the pot. It was a ancient pot, a very big one too, the ones you would expect to find in dank ruins of some unknown civilization deep inside a unfriendly jungle. It's clay was chipped in fragile places, it's pattern deformed and plain, it's color a dull normal brown. Nothing special. When she dipped her head into the slender neck of the pot, liquid soaked her head and hair.

"It's oil…"

Petunia yelled as she ran down the lower parts of the stairs, holding her dress up like she was dancing with a drunken swag,

"Yes! Throw it!"

Petunia reached the second floor first, her bare feet running over threadbare carpet expertly and joined her.

"To the balcony," she said, breathing hard as they dragged it to the balcony and lifted it up.

Working as quickly as possible they managed to drop it far enough from the house so red daring wisps of ribbon-like flame would not reach.

"There's another!" a scream came from behind, a shriek of high volume. They turned abruptly to face the a lit room like of a lantern, the figures forming meaningful words meant to wish good luck or fortune. Unfortunately for them, this surely would not be considered a lucky situation.

Flaky, as the amber-haired girl was called, grabbed Petunia's arm and demanded her to jump.

"Jump!"

"Explosion's coming!" She screamed, fearing the spilled oil in the central room. Twisting her companion's arm, she gripped the railing and flew off the protruding piece of building. The room exploded behind them, debris and rock following them like comets in the sky, the fire grasping everything in it's reach. No longer meek and controllable, the fire reached the other broken pot and it's black as night sky contents, giving another hearty explosion. The amber girl let go of Petunia's hand at impact with the floor and her wrist twisted beneath her as she fell on top her arm, breaking a bone for a loud crack was heard as she landed harshly against the wet disgusting grass. It was still raining, pouring buckets, and the cold rain fell onto her bare skin and her quickly bruising arm by the seconds and she winced. She tried to speak, produce noise, but something shut her mouth, if it was pain, if it was misery, she didn't know, all she knew was her whole body ached and that she was in distress.

A few feet away from her, Petunia landed face-first onto the ground, her body stretched across a rock like a laundry on a sunny day. Her back was bent and her left leg dangled like broken along with her bruised wrist that was twisted cruelly when they had jumped off the ruined railing.

"Petunia…hear me?" Flaky asked, her voice meek and rasp.

"Yeah. Luckily."

"Let's get up."

Flaky got up clutching her arm and she limped as her feet was numb from sheer impact. With her good hand she lifted her fellow friend up and Petunia clutched her shoulder as they proceeded slowly towards the burning house. The fiery fingers still lingered, they had even gotten worse, and the rain beating down on it did nothing but soak their clothes thoroughly.

"Think they're okay?"

"Yeah. Perfectly fine."

_And back inside where rain would surely be welcomed…_

"Duck down!" Flippy screamed with all his might. Wood paneling fell onto the ground with a loud clunk and fire and gas and smoke and all other things came tumbling and coming down and through, not a wisp of fresh air existed. Smoke pounded on the nostrils and seeped into the eyes, the sound of the explosion pounding on the ears like drums. Bodies were flung to the wall, and those who jumped directly downstairs found themselves rolling, rolling, straight into the hard brick of the wall. Flame surrounded them in all directions and pushed and pulled, the heartbeats so loud it hurt the ears. Gasping breaths were heard and the front door burned down, a shelf blocking the way.

"The doo-!" Handy cried, a piece of debris smashing his left arm. He coughed half-way and more broken wood came flying down on his arm.

"Pull him out!" Lumpy shouted, beckoning more help as he gripped the irate boy's right hand and yanked. The skin of his arm peeled slightly against the tough wood, the nail digging into some areas until the elder boy decided to move the limb to a more favorable position.

"Screw this!" Flippy swore. He looked at the swelling injury and winced. Handing Lumpy one side of the wood and grabbing Handy to carried him over his shoulder, they moved him out the fuming entrance. A third explosion came. Golden color was reflected in their eyes in a lovely manner, the fog blurring and darkening their pupils. They dropped the heavy load as it pushed them out forcefully onto the first floor's giant smelly rug and Handy grunted as the wood slid back to it's original place, rendering Lumpy's pulling useless. A brick fell on Lumpy's head and he grumbled and fell head-first against rug. The front door was gone by now and one could sometimes catch a glimpse of the outer scenery along with jumping ash like fleas in a cheap motel.

"Down the storage!" Splendid desperately yelled, and his voice could be heard cracking and stuttering clearly with no disturbance. His finger shivered as he pointed at the open flap, not because of frost but of intense fear and the heat pressing onto his flesh harshly. Flippy looked up and frowned a bit, the hole was already warm during the coldest of temperatures, and being in it during a fire would only mean sweating skin and uncomfortable heat. And he was sick of heat.

Splendid sensed his hesitation and sighed.

"C'mon, slowpoke!"

"Fine, fine…" he scowled angrily and with a kick he awoke Lumpy, who replied with a slightly frustrated noise, and they both threw Handy and the piece of wood into the cellar.

"Not the gentlest…," Handy muttered to himself, and the two jumped into the cellar themselves, the flame wrapping itself around the small piece of fireproof wood as it shut tightly, sealing the single entrance.

"Reliable stuff," Lumpy said, pounding on the wood gently, praising himself for buying it with his own money with very obvious pride. Even if it cost an arm and a leg. He didn't say this of course, it would ruin the glorious moment.

"Show-off," Flippy snarled, showing his anger at the incredible warmth inside the little cellar. He directed a kick to nothing but air to accompany his remark and Lumpy glared at him with his dull blue eyes.

"Okay, okay, stop," Handy said weakly with a tired face, then raised his right hand and pointed at the top.

"The others?"

"They'll be fine." Flippy snorted. The squished boy looked at him doubtfully for he sounded rather sarcastic and sarcastic remarks were usually anything but true. And that wasn't exactly the greatest.

_Yes, if you still do remember, there are 8 others yet to be mentioned, not in the cellar growling and throwing insults like fireballs and being total immature children. Oh, and those who aren't also outside unwillingly taking a nature's offered shower of course. Well, if you're wondering, they're also screaming fire insanely like little bugs being chased by a lengthy, sharp finger. Here, why don't we move on over to another group of little kids?_

"Nutty, Nutty, Nutty!" Sniffles yelled frustrated, hurrying him up along like the stairs as the rest do so as well. His roommate said nothing as a reply to the irritated screaming until he finished the lollipop and carelessly threw the stick away, the fire popping at the new material.

"Annoying."

This only served to infuriate the boy further and had it not been The Mole's gentle reliving touch on his shoulder with his usual soft laugh he would've punched the boy, truly he would. Toothy chuckled a bit at their little scene until a shriek warning of incoming danger fell on their ears and their joyful little run turned into piercing screams.

"It's oil!" came a shout. Their eyes widened noticeably, the fear clearly carved into the very pupils of their eyes and they all ran without any order, their legs almost moving by themselves. The explosion could be described as a thrown brick, except it was a very big one and with size it grew in mass. The force and impact that came from it struck them in the back, and they flew like birds, crashing through a wooden door. Floor, wet soil floor could be felt under the pads of their fingers as they stretched them across the mud-like dirt.

"Ugh…," Sniffles muttered, weeds and filth entering his mouth as he coughed a bit, saliva forming under his chin. Wiping it quickly, he crawled forward a tiny bit and lifted his small head to see Nutty propped up against the cabinet corner. His mouth dropped a bit and he stumbled hurriedly towards the slight figure.

"There's blood…," he said shakily, his hand gripping the skull of his roommate on the back. He looked around. Toothy laid on his back, his leg bent behind in a painful manner under thick metal, The Mole slowly arising with a ring of wood from the door around him. Flame started to enter the room casually and it stuck it's tongue out evilly and lapped at the walls slowly. Extending it's orange tongue northwards, it shattered the light bulb, the glass flying rapidly like rampaging bullets, scratching Sniffle's calf lightly. He hissed.

"Sniff…," Toothy started, but then his mouth fell into his shirt and he choked a bit until he could speak softly again,

"Leg…pull…," he finished stuttering, and Sniffles let Nutty sink into the bed mattress and he messily made his way in his direction, tugging at the limb, tears forming at the lids of his eyes. He was scared, worried, terrified and in front of bleeding comrades who needed help that he could not provide. Emotion hung above him like a dreary rain cloud and he bit his lip to keep back the rivers.

Toothy eyed the start of the drooping liquid and jokingly asked sadly,

"Crying, huh?"

"Shut up."

The leg freed itself after a few rushed pulls and Toothy reached over with his stick-like arms to grab and throw The Mole into the small pile of blanket on the ground.

"The fire…!" Sniffles said hurriedly, and he threw water with insane speed into the open-mouthed fire. It begged for more materialistic objects to be swallowed and thrust down it's fiery stomach and daringly hovered close to the boy. He depleted all the buckets he had and he threw them down in a childish manner, with a quick flick of the wrist and a furious stomp of the foot.

Toothy exhaled loudly as he thought and Sniffles rushed him to hurry, which obviously didn't help since you can't urge or push a brain forward anyways. Though when one is under great pressure common sense does not apply in their world. Toothy ran his hand over the brick walls and slid his fingers through an crack.

"Hey…what's this?" he asked and beckoned them over. Sniffles, the only one who could actually move properly, came over and looked with dull curiosity.

"The old bathroom," he answered, and he dug into the wall with fingers and pulled open the crack. It slid over like a sliding door and dust floated above them, mixing with the smoke, entwining their dirty fingers. The mixture delved into their bodies and The Mole stifled a cough.

"Ah, Mole. Okay?"

"Yes, thanks," he said, holding onto the offered hand of the freckled big-toothed boy.

The water inevitably lost it's one-sided battle with the steaming fire and it started to proceed towards the tiny room baring it's burning fangs.

"Go in." Sniffles said steadily, pushing them into the bathroom and dragging Nutty into it as well, as the fire started to reach the metal bed, heating it like a sword. The iron blushed blooming red and drooled liquid blood.

Outside, the sky seemed to rain fire and it dropped it's flaming pieces of debris, mimicking the way the sky throws down hale for the amusing sight of scattered humans with their scattered brains. The fire pressed down easily like one presses down on baked, soft dough, warm and flexible. The glass broke suddenly and it's piercing knives came flying through the air with it's reflected glimmering light like fairies in a dimly lit forest. One lodged itself in Mole's fleshy ear and he expressed the sudden needle-like poke with a fairly loud grunt. One made it's way near Nutty's blood-dripping injury and stayed there until Sniffles had the sense to sweep it away as one does with dust on furniture during attic-cleaning. The fire slid across the floor like a sneaky ferret and curled itself around the years old cabinet. The ancient thing rumbled a bit as if protesting until it lit up flickering before surging towards the ceiling with new life.

Toothy grabbed the hitch in the brick-covered metal wall and sealed it close shut, the iron squealing like a pig as it moved over the old metal tiles. The flooring of the bathroom was strangely comfortably cold, and the pads of their feet welcomed the sudden new change though it was abrupt. It was dark inside, purely black with no other light or shadow, and all there was the shuffling of feet and light sounds that bounced off walls when one bumped against another.

"Light…light…" could be heard, though who decided to speak with their saliva-glued lips no one knew, and no one probably knows to this day, though the flickering of light was gratefully accepted as the switch did a flip.

There were a few huffs and sighs passed around the room and Sniffles lit up a bit when he noticed that he had sighed once again. The door lit up along with him, thought it was gradual and slow, and was never near the peak to which it would be penetrated through by sheer heat and flying fiery fairies. The first defense, the old bricks, had yet to been broken and the flames copied the waves at the shore, constantly throwing itself onto the barrier. Thought it seemed and looked futile, it effectively wore off the bricks at a steady pace, and the brick wall would not stand invincible in a matter of minutes. These minutes however, were used efficiently by the injured bunch, though only half of it was working with quickened movements and the time dragged on in their head.

Toothy, probably in a time of good luck, found the exit way first and with the excited wave of his thin limbs they threw in the unconscious bunch and dragged their selves in as way. It was a small hallway that was to be used as a shortcut to the attic though one would not describe it as one. It was merely a tube-like area and branched out like trees into different areas of the a-lit house. One in good shape could barely walk up the steep pathway and they climbed it as one climbs the various high mountains and carried over their shoulders the other's limp bodies like loot.

"Ouch!" Sniffles softly yelped. The sound echoing through the tube, making it sound more like a shriek that anything else and it frightened some of the others below.

"What is it?" the voice that asked him seemed worried and the owner of it tugged on the pant leg of the other boy. He was somewhat relieved to find his leg still there and not on the ground twitching slightly ringed by a pool of ketchup-like liquid.

"The exit."

The lid smelled horribly and would no doubt cause quite a lot of rapid coughs from a person with a allergic nose. It was light though not extremely, and was easily tossed away, down into the now burning bathroom. Though one probably would not have heard it's fall if the floor had been of normal condition, it's sizzling was heard quite clearly and sent a wave of fear to circle around their hearts a bit as they clutched more tightly onto their grip. The small path opened up to a dusty attic and the dust attacked their faces as if defending territory. The fire had yet to reach the blurry attic though it was going to pretty soon, with the bathroom below already glowing red ever so brilliantly.

"It smells," Toothy remarked. He poked around the attic and stretched out a old intricate flag, probably belonging to a country that no longer exists and is but a pile of ruins.

"That's quite obvious," the other replied, and the other boy, the one that could speak for now anyways, clambered over and ripped it in half.

"What are-!"

"Bandage."

He pulled The Mole over by the hair and leaned over closely to admire, okay, no he wasn't drooling over it, at the deep wound. He flicked off the glass as the freckled boy stretched and leaned over to reach the other other boy. Yes, the one with the candy addition. Nutty's wound was not a mere exterior scratch, though it was physical, it was penetrating and no cut could be pinpointed amongst the bushy hair. No matter how deep he stretched his finger, it met nothing but perfectly fine scalp or a tangle of sweetened, wet hair.

"Hey, pass that," he said and was rewarded for the trouble he had to go through by opening his mouth by being given a half-piece of flag. It was smelled like wooden dusty attic and was grey and yellow from age. The sewing was loose and was easily stretched and torn, the fabric of the flag definitely not something dependable and expensive. Despite this, it had it's own attractiveness, the pattern sewn on it beautifully done.

That above description was actually really meaningless since it doesn't really matter what you use to wrap your head to stop your bleeding if not much materials are supplied. In fact, he should be grinning with extreme glee that he actually has something to wrap around the other's head. Okay, that was a bit exaggerated.

The natural stick of Nutty's hair, though it was not actually natural, it was just normal of Nutty, helped glue the cloth in place and this piece of flag took a liking to his head and stayed there for a pretty long time. The Mole's piece however, was not so cooperative and earned a few tugs from the irate spectacled boy.

"So. Going out?" Toothy asked a bit nervous, for the metal that clamped the attic door shut started to redden a bit and that was obviously not a good sign.

"Where?"

There was a silence that floated around the room after the sharp sound of speech, and the repetitive noise of Sniffle's doubtful voice filled their minds until Toothy ran a sword through the sky-high silence by tapping ever so lightly on a covered windowpane. Then it hit him.

No, not the imaginary sword, but an idea.

"Get a ladder."

Sniffles looked at him bewildered and was about to question him if not for the sound of the clanking metal rattling like a rattlesnake with it's forked tongue out as if hissing a threat. He asked nothing and passed him a ladder, quietly trusting in this idea he knew nothing about.

It was a good thing he did so too.

The fire broke through the metal and as if following it, Toothy broke through the window. It was not a hard task, but it's sharp blades had cut into his fist. Dripping blood, he let his hand loosely let go of it's clasp on the ladder and the metal thing tumbled slightly down the roof. It was jolted viciously when it hit a railing and jumped the same way after it hit a roof décor. Though it's ride bumpy and not smooth like silk, it landed out on a open area of the forest. The distance was a bit far, but walking back slowly beat burning crisply like Sunday cookies any day, any time.

Or did it?

* * *

A/N: Got the basic stuff planned out, I hope this chapter and the previous wasn't boring with the intros of the main protagonists. Also hoping I have their personalities down correctly... At first, I didn't think there were a lot of characters to manage but by the time I got past Petunia and Flaky jumping off the railing I had to open a new document to keep track of the characters and their actions in the fire + the way of exit they used… And I still haven't even finished up all the character group's individual exit ways in the orphanage yet! For those wondering why Flaky is so brave in this (and also why their personalities are a bit different), it's because this is before the show's storyline so most of them still have umm…"normal" personalities and body parts.

And: I see Sniffles as a mother hen.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own HTF.


	3. three

Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

"_There are many ways to look at life. But some just don't care and are stubborn with their foolish one-sided view."_

For a kid who was turning 4 that day, walking in a thorn-filled forest was definitely not a present that small kid would enjoy immensely. Rather, he would loathe it with great and intense hate that would overcome anyone's joyous passion.

But this kid, this bespectacled boy dragging this bushy-haired fellow through a prickly forest, wasn't actually turning 4. Though this information is actually quite small and unnecessary, he thought it important to point it out. He was always called a picky child.

Truly, he was neither 3, 5, 6, or 14 for that matter. His age was counted by birthday parties and in his life he has only had 4. That was that. Lumpy says though, that he must be at least 13, or even more for that matter, because he has the strength of one. He admits that personally, he thinks he's around 10 or so.

All these thoughts of birthday parties and confusing ages ran across his brain like scattered crumbs of bitten animal crackers and they sure knew how to stir up a riot in there; they pushed out all other thoughts violently with no hesitation. The rough scratch of tickly leafs and the mysterious prods from unknown objects of nature dissipated underneath the imagination of his ever so great brain. Despite this, pain must be felt afterwards and as they stopped at a clearing of forest, it came back to beat him for his ignorance of it's existence. Sniffles hissed at their rebounded damage and Toothy gave him a turn of his head as if expecting a snake.

Rain splattered on their heads like homeless paint spills and each cloud gave it's own silent snake-like call and all ran down, warriors of water, ready for war. Sniffles pulled his dirty mud-splattered glasses off his pale face, the cheap lens a bit cracked and blurred shook a bit with his motion, and caused the boy to quickly frown. He then huffed.

"There yet...?"

"No...not close," Toothy replied with the same slow style of speech. The end of his words were accompanied with a sigh and a deep breath of exhaustion, clearly shown through his slumped shoulders and shaking hands gripped around The Mole's great coat.

Their trek across the muddy moist grass floor was far from ending despite it winding between ancient stones and dilapidated huts, cutting through small lakes and circling and combining with previous confusing roads. The rain continued to hit their backs as if giving them harsh encouragement, and as it soaked into their hair and froze their scalps, they winced but bit back the sudden sensation. Though mud painted pictures on their legs, though rain spilled like a dropped glass cup filled brim full with liquid, though exhaustion hit them with the force of a metal edged baseball bat, they made it to the clearing they hoped for.

"...There...the house," Sniffles panted, leaning against a tree. The tree protested with it's leaves and vines poking holes through the male, but the said child did not wince. He was beyond that, way beyond to reacting to such pain. His legs ached with uncomfortable shocks of not being allowed to rest, and this blocked up his mind, leaving the small pain banging on the door of the Sniffles's brain, not able to get in.

"To think that...," Toothy started, then stopped. He heaved before continuing his statement,

"...it looked close."

"Close. Of course," Sniffles snickered sarcastically, his eyes narrowed and his mouth half open, creating a sly look of cruel irony.

A shifting human alarmed Sniffles shockingly as they stirred the small thin tree, and the boy jumped back in hideous fear. However, his exotic expression went to waste.

"...Petunia?" he gasped out and the bony skeleton of said girl moved up slowly as her arms ran away from the ground. Her hair covered her face and they gripped at her cheeks, but those dull penetrating blue eyes continued to stare back at eyes of same color. Her eyes moved up and eyebrows curved upward, her nose doing the same, and her mouth opened wide to choke out,

"Sniffles...Toothy!"

And she embraced the boy with the cracked glasses with great emotion. She smelled like the flowers she'd pick often, and this was common, but her hard-work now smelled like heartache and it was all that made the boy grip her small body slightly too hard.

"...Toothy. You're fine?" said another girl, one with amber hair hugging her neck, and aforementioned boy smiled a bit, his freckles moving along his face.

"Yeah. You?"

She laughed, a hearty laugh, and she smiled back at him with her front teeth.

"Of course."

_In a place where hugging tenderly and smiling goofily would not have been a good choice..._

Walls, you see, were not supposed to smell like lizards and frogs on barbeque. They were, let's say, there job was, to smell like paint or brick, maybe even old moss. Sneaky liked those kind of walls. Fate, however, seemed to have tastes opposite of him, they preferred fried smells on top walls that were indeed and literally fried. Yes, fate, decided that setting their house on fire would be lovely and grant them a beautiful smell suitable of their tastes.

"...Fate's against me," Sneaky muttered.

"Watcha' say again?" Pop asked him, curious, and apparently, deaf.

"Bad things," Disco Bear answered him.

"Things 'bout you," he continued.

He should've know what that would've caused. He probably did, actually. Or maybe he had gone mental in the short amount of time the fire had been set, and had decided that he has missed Disco Bear's dumb straight punches. Though as one smashed him against the west wall, he probably had then already decided that he disliked it. Again.

"This really isn't..." Sneaky started, then he stopped. It seemed pretty useless anyways. Cuddles shrugged at his started comment and Sneaky responded the same.

They were in a small hidden corridor, flame had yet to reached them. Because of this, they walked slowly, relaxed, and completely unguarded. And as if the fire knew their Achilles' heel, it burst into the hallway with great force and trembling noise, alarming the small, minuscule, and even ant-like figures. Their shadows appeared sketchy, as if crazily drawn by some idiotic child, their arms becoming a thin line of pencil scratches. They scrambled like the tiny yellow chick-shaped egg flecks that flew and entered their open mouths when Petunia flicked her pan and almost brought it down onto the ground with her weak wrist.

"Whoaaaaa, whoa, whoa!" Cuddles screamed unknowingly, pressing the palm of his head against the slightly burning carpet. It sizzled slightly and he was immediately reminded of the metal pan sitting in the kitchen.

Sneaky gripped the wall tightly, the wallpaper ripping slightly as his nails dug in, and he jumped off it as flame started to taste the eastern wall. If he weren't in such a sudden danger, he would have possibly admired the beauty of said fire, with it's flickering wings and gaping mouth, but his mouth indeed was gaping, and it fell even more as the two figures that appeared to be dancing, bickered on as they ran with a rather slow strut.

He would have nearly flung himself into them to speed up their ridiculous pace that kept him near the raging fire as it stalked them across the hall, but unfortunately or not, the blonde-haired boy clothed in yellow sweater, short jeans, and stinky shoes gripped his tight shirt and threw him across the blazing passage, and with a fist he screamed,

"Hurry it up!"

As they hurried in fear, though it is not yet certain whether it is the fire they are rather terrified of or the reckless boy of yellow, the thrown boy remarked grumbling,

"I'm no ball."

Leaning back against the unseen wall, his arm circled his head protectively like an helmet, and he spoke casually,

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The other boy, however, did not offer his forgiveness that easily and continued grumbling like an earthquake under pressure. The grumbles landed over the other's head and like a wet cloth, heavily held down his head, and after a while, the other cowardly apologized. That is, if it could be called an apology.

"...Hey, c'mon..."

"What?" A stare accompanied this.

"Don't be mad." A frown worked his way across his face during this moment.

A huff.

"I'm not."

"Awesome." Cuddles smirked, changing his tone and emotion quickly. He seemed to not noticed that the other's tone and voice was low and slightly sarcastic, but Cuddles was always like that really. Straightforward, blunt, and the typical trouble-making school boy who has never ever heard of manners. (And if he did, he surely didn't use them.)

The back door was in sight, along with a flitting image that wavered outside of said door that had been blown open.

"Hey, who's that?" Cuddles jumped suddenly, his hand trying to block out the flame. He couldn't see, it was but a hazy image of olive green and mottled black, plus, the two figures hastened towards the opposite direction when they were noticed, leaving nothing at all.

"No jokes please," Sneaky sighed, and his sweaty fingers pushed against the blonde boy's back and hurriedly, and as if herding sheep, led him to the door through push and shove. Cuddles could not make an objection in time and was pushed out of the angered house as fast as the one behind him could manage. Though Disco Bear and Pop was making quite the fuss in front of him, he didn't quite hear them. He was not deaf, no he was not, but he was actually blinded. Not literally of course, but the blurred figure flashed in his mind repeatedly. He was curious. Very much so, like a school boy, which was quite fitting of his manner.

"Hmph," Sneaky grumbled. The boy seemed to have gotten quite bored of his already dull joke already; he was ever so silent.

* * *

"...B-b-brother-r!" a voice trembled. It was cold, but not as terrifying as the look of the curious blonde boy who had caught the resemblance of their figures. The scarf wrapped around both of their necks flittered like broken butterfly wings and one of the double head's shivered. The weather was definitely harsh and uncomfortable. That, however, would not stop him from repeating "Brother!" excessively.

"What is it?" Though he spoke but three words, his tone revealed that he was indeed, quite annoyed by his brother's repetitive grumbling. The younger brother seemed to be somewhat perceptive for he stopped.

"Ah, sorry," he says quickly.

"We were spotted," says the younger.

"Yes, I know," replies the elder.

The younger pondered. Alas! Their sighting implied that they were inexperienced thieves, and he became quite sober after that; it was quite foolish though, it had already been heavily stated before, though not by tone or speech.

His elder groaned.

"Don't remind me."

"Of the gentleman?" the younger asks, curious. There's no reply, but the subtle scowl and grunt he picks up from his brother is practically a reply in itself.

It's then that he notices that he never said what he thought out loud. Or had he?

* * *

The few long moments it took for the others to reach the assembled group seemed to drag out when they all look back and reminisced to the "bad ol' days," as Sniffles called it occasionally, and whether it truly was the distance or just the yearn in each and every one of them for friend and kinship, no one knows. Perhaps, it was better that way. Who cared for such unnecessary details at such a time? No one did, really.

Sniffles objects to that however, details are all that important in actuality; he is quite unnerved at the fact that his, no, no, not his, the librarian's, book is unharmed. Completely for that matter. It is even in better shape than say, Petunia, and that is a very odd observation, which in a way, is just a simple detail. That book emits a rather creepy aura he thinks. And yes, that is also a detail.

* * *

A/N: Kind of short despite the long time I took to finish it, sorry 'bout that. (Much was actually spent on procrastination, really.)


	4. four

Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

_"It ain't the play that's amusing, it's the passing of life in front of one's very eyes."_

Gold. Basically, it smelled like pennies inlaid with rust; she turned her nose at it. It was pathetically lame that such a valuable material on the market would possess a trait so daringly similar to copper, a cheap lowly metal. With her head slightly tilted high, it was noticeable that her pose was rather odd. Her companion, unfortunately or not, seemed to pick up on that.

"Why, my dear Duchess, what is that face you are making? Does something disgust you so?" her fellow lady asked. Her face was revealed to be quite amused as her hand dropped and let her twinkling purple eyes show.

"It is these glasses, Lady Black, they are absolutely awful. I must consult with the manager of this theater, it might house poor commoners but I am not such!" she exclaimed with silent fury. The other laughed at her, chuckled to be precise, for she did not want to insult her. That is, directly insult her; she was more than fine with doing it in a sophisticated, indirect way more than she admitted.

"No need for such formalities, Duchess, you shall call me Lammy if you please," she said, still smiling lovely, her perfectly trimmed violet nails covering the tips of her slightly pale lavender lips.

"Ah, yes, yes, please do call me Giggles as well," the other replied quickly, returning the gesture, her hand in her open purse, ready to leave.

"Welcome back," a male said, his olive eyes smiling.

"Yes, yes, thank you," Lammy replied tersely, as if quick to leave. She grabbed hold of her diamond-bordered heels and placed them gently on the silver hook dangling from the patterned wall. With her feet now bare, she strutted into the larger expanse of her already very vast hallway and threw down her black leather and gold-trimmed purse into the woven tan basket. Throwing herself onto the ebony chair, she then called for coffee.

"How was the play?" her butler, dressed in a nice green dress shirt and covered with brown vest, asked casually.

"Horrid. I must say the only delightful thing I came across was my meeting with the Duchess, she is quite childish as they make her out to be."

With coffee poured and steaming, she grabbed it in a special lady-like manner, her white, pale, and long fingers gripped tightly around the small handle of the cup.

"And now!" she starts, before sipping a bit more of the brown liquid,

"I have that play's song running circles in my head. How horrid, how horrid..." She sighed.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asked, with the same manner of amusement as his master.

"Well, I wonder, would some good news appease you?" he finished.

Lammy looked at him excitedly for a second before returning to her usual calm state. Her lips curled. She stretched out her hand as if asking for the information to come flowing into her beckoning hand.

"Of course it would, dear Pickles! You must know how dreadfully boring the world can be sometimes, ah! If you were only at that play, if only, I think it is a wonderful example of the dullness of our age. Ah, what a shame you weren't. You must join me next time. Hm, it seems like I have extracted another good thing from that grotesque thing, that is good, that is good, optimism is good," she said happily, her sentences dragging along somewhat needlessly. She clapped her hands together waiting for the news.

"Now, hurry, Pickles, hurry," she urged him.

"Glad to see you that eager, mi lady." he said, moving his eyebrows curiously.

"Well, you see, I happen to bump into a pair of nerve-racked thieves today."

"Oh! I believe I bumped into them as well today. They were wearing your favorite scarf I believe, the splotchy black and moss one no? They haven't stolen it from you have they?"

He chuckled then continued as the woman stared at him intently.

"Haha, but no. Rather, I do think I stole more from them then they did."

"Oh no, Pickles, please don't tell me you stole their life, did you? You do know picking up after that can get quite irritating after a while don't you?" she frowned, though did not seem very shocked or miserable at the mention of such a topic. She fingered a glass chess piece from her obviously custom-made chess set. It was a white pawn whose top sphere had a small dent; she fit her nice little nail into it and dug, scraping against the glass slowly.

"Ah, don't jump to conclusions so quickly," he said, then sat.

"I may sit, yes?"

"Of course, it was rather rude of me to let you stand there, please do sit. Help yourself to my coffee," she said, pushing the stainless steel tray towards the male.

"I think you mean my coffee."

"Oh, whatever," she laughed. "Now, do continue."

_[5 hours ago...]_

There was always something that he didn't like about the early morning sun, it shone too early, way too early, and that was something he didn't like, rush. Slipping into his snake-skinned shoes, he flipped the buckle over the smooth material and grabbed his kiwi-like coat. The quicker rays of the giant yellow egg hovering over the town started to flitter into the large living room through the dusty glass panes. The scene was quite remarkable, the glass seemed to glow and the colored panes cast intricate floral patterns onto the marble floor, growing grass and flowers through pure shadow on top the chocolate-textured ground.

"I will head towards the nearest market, mi lady," he said softly, pushing his rounded spectacles upon his nose.

Said lady came out of the dining room in a light purple nightgown, her black framed glasses drooping slightly as she dropped her head to see clearly out of her sleep-boggled eyes. Her small toes gripped at the comfortable cold tiles and she leaned on one of her pale as white legs, crossing her fabric-covered arms.

"Someone's quite early today," she said, a smirk flashing across her thin lips.

"Mind you, I would've loved to stay in today if it had not been for a feast-craving black beast."

"Oh! You must not mean the extravagant woman whom you referred as "mi lady" do you?" she asked mockingly and in a slightly narcissistic way, praising herself midway of her sentence.

Though not thoroughly beaten, he decided to leave it at that, exhausted of the needless bicker.

"Anyways, vulgar horrid beast, I will go to the market and buy you back your requested bloody sacrifice."

He walked speedily in a proper manner and shut the door politely, even before the sarcastic lady could say,

"I believe I requested vegetables, dear."

Having her brilliant remark go ignored did not cheer her so, and she sighed. She grabbed her bag and rustled through it, a pair of tickets jumping out to welcome her.

"Hm. Wonder if it's any interesting..." she mumbled to herself, already scrawling on a piece of paper noting her later location. It read "Going to a play, Pickles. If you remember to pick up the book I reserved from that dainty library, leave it on my bed please." She clapped, it was perfect.

She threw her leather purse over her shoulder, slipped into her newly bought heels, and as fancy as any lady could, ran with her dress swaying back and forth behind her to the new play.

He smelled like rotten pig. Lovely, absolutely lovely. He's almost sure that the strange smelling liquid clinging onto the tip of his scarf is pig blood as well and that the germs are throwing one of those needlessly expensive gatherings his master insists on holding every month to dirty the whole house.

The market was infested with flies, dancing across the whole area in brown leathery skin, entertaining the various peddlers by pestering them as they chopped raw cold meat and poked holes through fish scales to rush in with their gloved or naked hand to pull out, one by one, blood-stained organs of various sizes. Some laid sprawled out lazily on the dirty soiled floor and the horribly loud children would run and poke them with a stick or twig or two. The churning river on the left would then emit a grumbling sound so similar to that wolf, Fenrir's, growls in the dark forests that seemed to stretch across the richest expanse of land. It also smelled like eggs, eggs from so long ago that their smell would cause anyone with a mild nose allergy to turn it fatal. The continuous snowing and rain of the city's seasonal winter weather was just the chocolate decorations on a cake of unpleasantness; he proceeded to pinch his nose with red frozen fingers.

Walking past a stall selling duck tongues and chicken legs, he turned to swivel into a alleyway that led to the pathetic excuse of a library that was practically just a shack. He doesn't know why his master likes to call it dainty, the only thing delicate there are dust-filled, insect-filled books with broken spines and unhealed holes. Mud played amongst his shoes and put his snake skin to shame, he doesn't like that, surely he doesn't. He knelt down and lifted up a disgusting piece of red curtain to enter a small room filled with a rackety pair of stairs; squished to the point the steps seemed to blend and mix with each other under the blurred sight caused by the steam that lived there. He headed up and then jumped down swiftly through the hole at the top to reach the hidden corridor behind. The fog still floated heavily, sticking onto the ceiling and crawling on the floors, and he instinctively swatted at it as if it was a fly. He knocked on the only door there.

"Hello? It's Pickles."

The door opened in a fragile manner that raised about much concern, and out came a bald young man, who possessed sparkling orange eyes, so similar to that of the orange ribbons that were wrapped around tightly on wet wine bottles. Despite this, there was a black ring in the middle of his pupils, and a grey shadow that surrounded it, matching the ones underneath the skin of his eyes. Though his eyes sparkled, his face did not do so and his expression was sober and solemn, giving off an menacing face. However, said older man was already used to it, no doubt from the countless trips, and was completely unfazed by the intense, concentrated, stare that would send many back home crouching under their cushioned chair or silk covered bed.

"Lammy's book?" he asks, and somewhat states, short and brief, like all the other uneducated commoners, though he is not so.

"Uh, oh, yes." the gentleman replies, caught off guard, searching for a certain something.

"Looking for seat?" the younger asks, though says with such a tone of knowledge and maturity that it seemed like he already knew the answer, making his question rather useless.

"Oh, yes. You don't happen to have a chair of some sort do you? A stool is fine as well, just some sort of sea-" he stops as the other stares at him and then looks at the floor, his hand up and almost ready to pat the ground, indicating it as a suiting place to sit down and get comfortable.

"No, no, no, the ground doesn't count. Something above the ground please."

The other sighs and throws him a wooden stool, home to a spider resting on top, who now was quite jostled and was surely panicking. The elder man looks at it with a rather disgusted face and the younger looks on at the situation with a smile flitting across his pale lips. The elder isn't sure if he's glad that the monk could understand his long sentences or would rather prefer him to not acknowledge what he was saying for he was surely playing with him, surely.

"I'll stand, thank you."

"Whatever pleases you," he says with a smile, then gets back up to search for the book amongst the dank rubble, tossed and ripped lost pages, his own clothes, and his sprawled out blanket and pillows. It's a one-room house of dirt with only half of it covered in new carpet, given by Lammy herself (or rather forced for the monk was not willing until he was knocked unconscious and well, let's not get into the story), but the monk didn't seem to care.

"I've found it." he says with his special manner of speech, and he gently puts it on top of the other man's stretched palms. The other mutters a thank you and drops off a light blue and creamy striped plastic bag of some truly dainty perfume shop and heads towards the door for it is stuffy and dusty and he is almost sure he cannot stand the suffocating smoke.

"It's a gift." he says while the other looks at it curiously through deep circled eyes and he gently shoves it back into the other arms.

"No need, thanks." is all he hears because he's shoved out of the room and locked out, pushing it results in nothing, which is quite shocking seeing as the monk's locks seemed quite inefficient...

Outside, the fog was still hanging slowly amongst the building walls, the whole hallway shrouded in mystery. Gathered groups of unknown backgrounds and intents glared at him, though he is sure he hasn't gotten himself in any deep debt. A pair of twins stared at him, then at his pockets, and he laughed sarcastically. He's a good looking man obviously, even the young guys are taking a look at him and he praises himself. He sighs. He's lying of course, it's just rather amusing in his brain. He is sure the young lady will approve.

The alley was thin as usual when he walked out, and he greeted it unhappily. There was always this scuttling sound that followed him, and whether or not he was followed was never solved. Most of the time however, he's gotten out safe. As for the thieves he really does meet...he chuckles. He knows his lady doesn't like it. Today, however, besides the obvious shuffling sounds, whispers were abound behind him.

"It's that book..." said one, seemingly down.

"Shut it." A hand clamped on the other's mouth and squirming was heard, along with a few sighs and hurried gasps. The voice tripped over a rock on the ground and something was wrapped once more around it. The butler sighed. They were being quite obvious weren't they?

"What do you want Mister Grubbyhands?" he asked, turning. The younger was gripping the book in his hands quite tightly, and the older gentleman feared it rip.

"Now, I hope you will let go, ripping it would be most unfortunate." his eyes narrowed angrily and the small boy ripped the book completely in half in fear, wanting to get away. His eyes were big, like the color of pickles indeed, and he bit his lip, his hands still in position of wanting to grab the dirty pages, though broken and in half.

"Fool!" his elder brother yelled furiously, running out suddenly and surprising the gentleman, hitting his charge across the face.

"I am sorry!" the younger cowered in the corner, his hands wrapped around his head, the book acting as a make-shift shield, draped over his messy hair. The elder pulled on the younger's scarf, which had obviously been used to muffle his voice before, some saliva drooled down the fabric in certain areas close to the other's mouth. The younger, the pickle-eyed one, stood up clumsily, being dragged up by his elder. His hands clung onto the scarf like the book, trying to stop it from choking his already red neck, and it ripped in the sudden fight. However, he stood up anyways, trembling, jittery, and all sorts of shaking. The elder had other things to face in the meantime, the by-standing victim of attempted thievery, looking on with mixed emotion with quick darting eyes, smile flitting through his face once in a while. Though rather rough with his younger brother, his kiwi-colored eyes, more brighter and therefore a bit more charming, looked at the man with sudden fear, being caught red-handed meant jail, jail, and jail, or maybe a fine or so, something like that, yes, at least a fee of some sort and it was something they definitely could not pay.

"Run for it!" he rashly shouted, and his younger brother obeyed instantly, running as fast as he could as the elder dragged him out of the alleyway, his scarf in tangles. It kicked up dust, like the fog inside the horrid building, but the gentleman grabbed them anyways, holding onto a hole in the scarf, un-patched and barren. The younger choked, being pulled on both sides of the scarf, and desperately tried to get the restricting object off his neck, but did not succeed. Feeling a bit sorry, Pickles ran slowly after them and pulled onto the longer part of the scarf that had became most likely a rope by now, roughly thrashing back and flinging them both.

"Hey, hey, now, where are you going?"

They turned sharply, their eyes scared and sunken with fear, their mouths open but not speaking. They didn't understand him. Pickles sighed. He asked again, though this time briefly and in a more understandable manner.

"Where ya going?"

"Uh..." they faltered, and the younger kept the book behind his back, away from sight.

"No where!" the elder yelled suddenly, and very bluntly as well, and the gentlemen was taken a back from surprise.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!" it was very straightforward, and there was no grace in that hoarse, used voice, and very different to the voice he was used too, ones with melody and musical tones, that flew out of their master's mouths easily and politely, it was a very beautiful thing, but that did not appear to exist in the two twins. The younger spoke, and confirmed this readily.

"Yes, no where." he agreed, softly and shyly, unlike his explosive brother, who seemed to like to get things going his way through threatening or just pure brute force.

"Okay, sure." He nodded, as if soaking up the exposed information, that was, so obviously a lie, that he need not think more than a few mere seconds.

"Then, book please?" The twins looked at him reluctantly.

"Uhhhhhhh..." the younger, who was more favorable and usually more easier to get through, this time, showed some defense, he did not immediately turn it over, which seemed to earn him some beaming from his elder brother, which he willingly and very happily absorbed.

"There's no book," the elder replies tersely, depending on the fact that it could be possible that the man hadn't seen. However, depending on that was like depending on a old shack lasting for more than 500 years, that man had quick, sharp, and accurate eyes.

"Uh huh, right," the man says, playing on jokingly. He knows, unfortunately.

"No. Not joking." He stops, so they can comprehend. Then he starts again, cutting his usually long sentences into short, sometimes grammatically wrong parts.

"That book."

"Give it."

"I saw it." There's a gleam in his eyes. It's scary, it sends chills downs the spine of almost every person he meets, that is every person who makes him mad, or maybe, if they have the guts, play him as a fool. Basically, it gives creeps, and like it successfully does so, scaring the two needlessly.

"The book, uh." the younger stammered, then stopped. He admitted to having the book, yes, he did, but he did not however, give it back to him. In fact, he hid it behind him even further, and the gentleman did not like that. His eyebrows frowned themselves.

"Where is it?" He doesn't add his more friendly following words, those that are playful, like "Hmmm," they wouldn't understand him if he did.

"Elsewhere," the elder says with a flap of his arm rather defiantly. His younger brother is shocked that he would try to attempt such a thing and pulls at his sleeve.

"Brother, brother...," he murmurs, and he though he's just whispering, it's audible.

"Mmmmm. That was rather naughty, kid." It's one long sentence but he's tired of playing this game when the others refuse to cooperate nicely. They don't understand at all, but that's okay, really.

He snatches the book, and the little one, with his unhealthy shaking hands, drops it to him as the gentleman's wide fear-inducing face nears in and intimidates him. His elder, being quite protective, sticks his face in front to confront the creepy man.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he angrily scowls.

"A handsome face?" he laughs and asks, and the elder looks unhappily at him. He sticks up the dirty ragged book with his little nicely-trimmed fingers, so glass-like as usual, and moves his wrists to wave the stack of papers about.

"Why do you want it anyways? It's a pretty old book. You know, kids these days, do you all like old stuff?" he asks, curious and doubtful. They look at him weirdly and try to answer with what they could hear.

"Uh. Don't know?" the younger tries, confused.

"It has treasure!" the elder bluffs and the man seems to, for some reason, believe him.

"Really?" his eyes widen and his eyebrows stick up, it's curious, but it's doubtful too. Seeing this as a chance, the elder speaks up.

"Yeah! It does!" he nearly shouts, and the man flips through the pages doubtfully.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what...?"

"Obviously, the treasure," the gentleman sighs.

"Yes!" the elder yells unwavering and by the younger's disapproving and hesitant look, he could tell that this was hardly the truth. Oh well, he'll go along with it anyway. He is sure he won't be the one who would be losing out on this.

"Show me."

"Later," the elder grumbled and the gentleman tossed him their scarf.

"It's for identification," he said, then continued,

"Find me."

"But only when..." he hesitated a bit before continuing again,

"...you find it." He found that he finished rather lamely; he's quite unhappy with the fact that he's forced to use short choppy sentences.

"Fine!" the elder grunted and then as the gentleman walked away, scarf-less, and therefore freed of pig-smell, he yelled behind him,

"I'm not afraid!"

* * *

"You could hear them from that far, Pickles? Are you sure you did?" she chuckled mischievously and her butler frowned in reply.

"Do you take me for a deaf old man? I am not as old as you like to think I am, mi lady." A smirk slowly moved into the creases of her face.

"Was that a compliment?"

"Yes."

"For yourself?"

"Indeed."

"How vain."

The man sighed. Looking up, he eyed the clock that dangled ever so perilously and the crystal frame of it shook as it ran to announce the coming of 4. He then tapped at his invisible watch.

"With respect, were we not to wait for the arrival of your brother? We have spent so long on the topic of today's morning event yet have not seen a swaying hair of your brother's sea-weathered hair."

"Late, 'tis true, however, his presence we will face nonetheless," she said, purging the cup of coffee. She set it down and tapped the table. The butler, towering over her, poured her another steaming cup and the repeated tapping ceased. Sitting back down, he sighed.

"I berate him almost daily and what am I to receive? Fruitless sighs, my dear, fruitless sighs!"

"Oh, Pickles, so dramatic as usual! Does he ever give you the slightest chance to let you scold him so repetitiously? Is he not on sea one day or another? Why, if he was not, I do not think we would sitting here, waiting like a pair of sitting ducks!" She laughed loudly and the rung bell of the door barely sounded above it.

"Oh, look at you. So loud for a lady, ever so un lady-like, you are! That is the bell, my dear."

"Oh, Pickles, today is a joyous day, do not ruin it with all your motherly grievances!" She laughed once again before sipping more neatly to avoid a wagging finger.

"Won't you get it for me, dear?"

"Of course, mi lady, if it not for me, you would have sat there needlessly, would you not?" he replied quickly, rushing to the door before it was roughly kicked open. However, it seemed rather late.

"Oh, I would not, Pickles. Only those who seek me with utmost importance would kick it open, you see? Or well, like regular people, open the door, of course. It is always open. I welcome brave thieves and ill-meant men to my doorstep to my challenge any day. They face my wrath and your ever accurate pinpoint kicks, Pickles."

A rough hearty chuckle came through the widespread door and it sounded like the stormy waves of the outside foamy sea. Surrounded by a small, prickly, and very camouflaged beard, it ceased moments later.

"Ay! It looks like Sister is as hardy as usual!" He laughed once again. His hair was gelled, dyed a crazy blue in random areas, and his bangs were pulled back to the start of his neck with a long black bobby pin of metal or steel. Running his slightly scarred hand over his scalp, he threw his raw and nearly thin bare coat at a random chair, knocking it over in the process.

"Oh, Truffles, your sister is always like so. Now, how are you doing? I see you have not shaved your beard as usual, I swear, you do seem to like to make Pickles there fume, ahhh."

"Yes, indeed, he does. I don't take your pranks very well, m' lord," the mentioned man said rather sadly and picked up the chair. There was a small dull metal hook above a fancy woven laundry bin and he threw the coat back onto it.

"Now, m' lord, it is time you learn where your rather foul clothes go."

"Oh, Pickles, picky as usual!" he said and then shrugged, sulking and draping himself all over the butler.

"Do I smell of putrid sea to you?" he mocked. Covering the man's face with his hand, he barely let breath fly into the other's nose and the other quite obviously expressed his dislike for it.

"Yes, indeed you do! Now why don't you go and take a shower like all the normal folk?" His hand swept over his face in a useless attempt to wipe the dirty off his face. Obviously, it did not succeed to do anything other than appease the sailor-like lord, who then decided to humor the poor man and go at take the offered shower.

"Well then, Pickles, I will humor you because you seem ever so distressed and unhappy."

"Oh, what a honor I have been graced with!" he mockingly replied and sat back down with a huff.

"And to think I will have to deal with those twin thieves later in the week! How horrid, how horrid," he mumbled.

"Oh! I do think you are picking up on my wording, my dear. You sound quite like me today on this very afternoon!" she said rather interested. Stomping off into the opening stairways, the silent sounds of heels against ground echoing off the wall's rooms were produced rather frequently and became the beat and constant rhythm the man below had to work too while he cleaned off the table.

"How horrid..." he finished.

* * *

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this chapter, it's probably my favorite. It might be just me enjoying a break from describing dreary and gloomy conversations and scenarios compared to the more mocking and sarcastic dialogue that is exchanged between Lammy, Pickles, and Truffles. I had someone else planned for Truffle's role however, he didn't fit the role of Lammy's brother all that well. Going back to the group of miserable HTFs next chapter, meaning I don't get to write long sentences of speech, meaning that I'll go and lament that loss right now. :c


	5. five

Death Hath not Visited, Death Hath not Seen

_"The stage is set, feel but regret, or leave with you behead."_

Money is an important thing with pride following suit. That being said, however, life is the first priority one should consider and this has been drilled into his head the very moment he was born and it sure stayed. Spying on a bunch of sad kids for a strange gentleman, however, did not seem to be the perfect life anyway and he wondered often why he decided to bluff his way through, though as an older brother, he was pretty proud of the act his younger put into action, it seemed to work pretty good. People pity piteous men as they say.

* * *

"I'm being watched..." Sniffles grumbled.

"What? How?" Cuddles turned on his heel rather quickly and spinning a few rounds, was still pretty dizzy. His words came out slurred and low, like the words of a dying man.

"It's a feeling," the other boy replied naturally.

"Okay, that's...okay," the blonde one finished.

An ominous wind blew every so often, whipping at the trees and the bare flesh of many in the surrounding area, causing Petunia, with her blue hair flapping like clipped wings, to hold her nearly transparent dress to her shaking broken limbs.

"He still in?" Petunia angrily asked, shivering under the thin fabric.

"Ya mean Flippy?" Disco Bear instantly answered her, though it was a question as well.

"Of course!"

"Ya, he is."

Petunia shook her head.

"Taking so long..."

"Indeed," Sniffles butted in. Did checking storage really take that long? It seemed unlikely, at least to him. That said, a bushy head of hair popped out of the little basement hole.

"Uh, bad news," he announced gently, slowly blurting the words out.

"Oh, how lovely!" Petunia replied sarcastically.

"Logs, 20," Flippy started then stopped, waiting for the replies. Nothing to big of a comment was made, so he continued with on though with slight hesitation.

"Edibles, 10 cans..." He started to stutter as the number had dropped though the importance increased, the crowd seeming to share the sentiments for their worried sounds grew rapidly in volume.

"Drinking water, 1..." _That_ caused the listening audience to make some noise.

"What! One what!"

"Er, bottle," Flippy replied and he scratched his head and Lumpy tapped his chin in a manner of thought.

"Petunia bought, right?"

"T' was last week," she replied solemnly and shook her head.

"We're doomed," Splendid noted rather pleasantly and they all looked at him in a scolding manner for being quite pessimistic.

"Well, our balance?" Petunia asked a little hopefully and she stared at his clutched hands impatiently.

Flippy dropped 10 small golden coins in a mound of dirt and pointed at them.

"That's all."

Splendid laughed. He seemed to have given up on any hopeful or optimistic way of looking at the current situation for he replied negatively,

"That's hilarious." Petunia shot him a glare once again.

"Oh, really now?"

"Lost his mind," Disco Bear replied, gloomy. There was a strange echoing silence that seemed to follow his statement and some nodded slowly and subtly though whether they agreed with him or not was questionable, the bobbing spiky ball of a head that was Flaky's seemed to be perpetually moving up and down, swaying with the grumbling winds.

"Well, work then?" Lumpy asked, the silence worrying him second by second.

"We'll needa move," Petunia noted, her hands on her hips, and the others started to get up and question her.

"Why is that?" Toothy asked, frowning.

"I like forests!" Cuddles joined in with his fellow's petition and the elder female groaned.

"Oh, grow up!" she whined and they both shut up quickly as her eyes narrowed and her face darkened with frustration.

"Yes, she's correct," Lumpy agreed then nodded.

"What about storage?" Flippy piped in, concerned about the leftovers of their inventory.

"We'll move it," Lumpy started, then after a thought, continued.

"To the city," he hesitated for the others seemed rather unhappy with this decision.

"Non Mortuus, yes?"

"Yes, yes!" Petunia suddenly clapped and the others stood to attention.

"First, get aid!" She pointed to another open path through the forest. It was more clear than the one the other two boys took, however, it was wet and seemingly damaged. The others grimaced and the mud stains that would take home in their sticky clothes.

"To the church?" Sniffles asked.

"Yes, good idea," Petunia cheered and though still sitting down, she pointed orders here and there. Lumpy and Disco Bear hung her over their shoulders after a while as her veil-like dress stuck like glue to their open backs. The cold wind blew relentlessly despite the complaints, curses, and occasional pleads thrust up to the still grey afternoon sky; the more they grunted as they trudged through the mud, the more horrible their situation seemed to be become.

"We're moving nonetheless," Petunia started.

"The city's next," she finished, huffing despite not walking, her breaths landing stifled and short on top the bare skin of the two boys carrying her.

"Yes, after treatment," Sniffles strictly replied, wagging his pointer finger. He walked quickly to the swaying movement of the three bodies. Walking by, he glanced at Petunia's sickly pale face and mumbled,

"Don't rush it," he said, then patting her head, walked forward.

* * *

The ringing of a bell jolted the olive-colored butler suddenly and he grumbled.

"What, is it Truffles yet again, m' lady? He is out very often."

"Oh, maybe. Or probably your little twin demons, I hope," she replied casually as she focused on her one-player chess battle.

The bell continued ringing as he stared at her odd way of playing a game that was intended to be played by two and annoyed after awhile, opened it.

"Hey, Pickles!" Truffles greeted the other happily, though he was returned a frown.

"You're all wet. Did I not tell you it was raining heavily today?"

"Yes, you did, dear!" He chuckled merrily as he shook the hanging droplets violently, causing an ensuing shower of filthy rain.

"Oh, and these two kids told me they wanted to see you, Mr. Butler," he said, smiling, and two coat-covered figures appeared clutching to each others thin fabric.

"Oh, these two?" He asked curiously, revealing the two pitiful looking thieves, awed as they stared at the various silver and gold furniture pieces that dotted the glass-like house.

"Pickles, dear, are those your little twin devils?" Lammy asked shocked, the brown-colored water spreading throughout the pebbles of her floor as they walked around freely behind the sailor's large scarred back.

"Seems like you've made some friends," Pickles commented, his eyebrows raised as the two males attached themselves to the black leather coat of the other male.

"And seems like you've made some enemies," he retorted, laughing.

* * *

The church was a one gigantic building, it loomed over the smaller shacks of the other outcasts that lived amongst the forests, mostly deserted orphanages or hideouts of small unknown bandits or thieves of all sorts that did not dare to venture further to make their living. Despite being charged with thievery (and never caught and punished for), they never did live any better than the other groups of small run-down houses and kids, it was probably this that left the forest area ever so populated, people driven to thievery never did get better, never did get new lives, left forever in an area labeled for outcasts and small criminals that never got to eat as much as successful criminals would've. The church was a government-funded building that was _supposed_ to take care of this. However, the nuns stayed cooped inside, never went out, never did help until the people went to their doorstep did they noticed that yes, there was something wrong outside of their little lighted sanctuary.

Knocking on the door, it swung open, a black-veiled nun leading them through the battered hallway, letting them sit on the eaten wood benches below a dangerously leaning statue, the fading light shining through the broken glass windows. Petunia laid stiffly across one bench as Flaky did another while the others less injured sat breathing unevenly, grabbing and trying to comfort whatever limb that does them pain.

"Oh my, that's..." the nun trailed off as she brought them a first aid kit, metal and patched up through band-aids. It was like a measurement of the shape of the deteriorating church, the government had left it to become another piece of junk in the forest full of trash.

"Patch that up!" the nun said firmly, pointing at the bleeding and swollen head of The Mole, the red liquid dripping steadily onto the foul-smelling tiles. She passed a roll of bandages into the shaking hand of Cuddles.

"Ah, thanks..." Cuddles said, then stopped.

"What's your name?"

"Number 203," she said while chuckling. Cuddles looked at her curiously, as if she wanted to fool them.

"Eh? A number?"

"Yes, a number," she said, laughing at his bewildered expression.

"Government gave it," she said, replying to the nonexistent question plastered onto his face.

"Ahh, I see," he mumbled, though not very understanding. He decided to ignore it in favor of The Mole's head, which seemed like a squeezed orange, it's juices still oozing out of it's container.

"It looks serious," Lumpy said while frowning as he rolled up his sleeves, already stained with blood and other things Cuddles did not want to phantom.

"Mostly the ear," Cuddles noted, and Lumpy nodded.

"You okay?" Lumpy asked, not bothering to look over the other's appearance seeing as most of the blood on his clothes probably belonged to the other male.

"Ankle hurts," Cuddles frowned then stopped noticing the concerned stare.

"It's nothing much," he nervously chuckled.

"Ah, okay then," Lumpy sighed, finishing the conversation swiftly as he turned to the other side. Cuddles then returned to his own center of attention, his hand against his cheek as he lazily looked over the other's leaking injury.

* * *

"So, we have our little devils here, do we not? What do they have for us?" Lammy asked hurriedly. Truffles kindly ruffled their hair dry, throwing the towels one by one in the face of Pickles who got more aggravated which each and every dirty and wet towel that hit him square in the face as the conversation was delayed second by second. Lammy tapped against her glass pawn again, scraping the dent with her fingernail as usual in impatience.

"We saw it," they spoke up suddenly and Pickles leaned over against the table despite a silk towel still hanging over his combed hair.

"Now, did you?" Lammy stated and asked, doubtful.

"According toooo..." The younger dragged the vowel sound as his elder brother flipped through the pages of the ancient book.

"Ah, here. 136," he finished and all three adults leaned forward together instantly for a even closer look.

"Hmm, isn't that the forest the government calls 'The Junkyard' ever so often?" Lammy asked, noticing the location of the scribbled X.

"Now, before that, m' lady, would you mind describing just what is this? You get me to fetch you these rotten paper books from the foggy library that should not even be one and now these kids tell me they see something on this page that you can see as well that I seemingly do not? This is quite baffling!" Mr. Pickles pointed out, he was, in fact, like what his speech indicated, quite confused.

"Ah, why not? Well then, Pickles listen well. This ol' town has an old legend that describes many curses and blessings, given out only when one finds certain books that reveal a location of one curse or blessing. This curse or blessing is unlocked when you plant that curse or blessing's seed, it grows into a tree and then unleashes the curse or blessing onto it's surrounding area. It's said that the one who gives birth to such a tree is granted wish, a wish that apparently will forever surround the planter with eternal happiness."

There was a pause before Pickles decided to comment on Lammy's story.

"I say this with no offense, however, it seems to be complete blasphemy, m' lady." He nodded and Lammy chuckled.

"You'll find some legends to be quite entertaining, specially when you decide to pursue them to find their truth or lie," she said, laughing.

"Sister must just be very bored, Pickles, you bore her very well," Truffles said convincingly and Pickles stared at him, unbelieving.

"No, that must not be so! I am pretty sure you is quite occupied with managing what needs to be done, with her controlling many parts of the organization," Pickles said, trying to make himself believe.

"No, Pickles, I am rather bored and dulled," Lammy joined in with a straight face, though she lost her calm face a few seconds later as she laughed in such a exaggerated manner that she gripped her stomach and table to balance herself. Pickles frowned, however, tipped his hat in a playful manner as he smirked and responded,

"Touché, both of you," he replied.

* * *

The night crawled on as the moon flew up to meet it's lover, the sky, who opened it with wide arms as it does with the sun. A cheater, it is. The rain had stopped and the winds that blew in chilly trembles left with it, leaving behind a calm dark night, a humid dark night. The ones who could move swatted at the irate flies and though the nuns fluttered around trying to make the place as comfortable as possible, the church still did not meet a three-star hotel. They had little visitors, the things were unused and old, the guest pillows stunk like dust, and of course, the flies buzzed around to keep them company.

"Ohh, I'm dreaming~" Splendid sung depressingly and with no complaint, he continued,

"Dreaming 'bout nothing~"

"The sea's wide," the others joined,

"But, not us,"

"It's not wide for us,"

"For the others,"

"wide for others~"

"Stage is set,"

"leave no regret,"

"or leave behead~"

"Darling, leave here,"

"leave here quick~"

"Ohhh, darling~"

And the chorus of despair ran throughout the stone church, the holes between the bricks singing the song of left behind hope, spreading it across the forests, across the sea, across the wide, wide, sea.

* * *

A/N: Um, yeah, I told myself I would write one chapter a month however I believe I'm late. Funny thing is, I wrote most of this in one day probably because I was struck with inspiration or maybe just because procrastination was what actually causes such a delay. Sort of short though, at least it sort of looks like it... And yes, Lammy's story in Chapter 4 is connected to the others, it just isn't shown yet though it's shown a bit in this one. The plot starts here since Lammy just explained what I decided the story would revolve around, isn't it just blasphemy and hard to believe? Yeah, I tried hard on thinking of a believable reason that would link what was said in Chapter 1 with what I saw as snippets of the story I pictured that I would love to write. Unfortunately, that was sort of hard so I decided to settle with this. I sure hope it's okay. Also, the town's name Non Mortuus is Latin for "undead." Uh, well, according to Google. Anyway, I think I'm just talking to myself, haha!


End file.
